where a ring had rubbed against the skin.
Ric looked at Jonah. “So maybe his wife dumped him and he had a meltdown.”
Jonah stepped back and leaned against the counter. As motives went, it was one of the oldest around. Still, he didn’t like rushing to conclusions. Plenty of men’s marriages broke up and they didn’t all start shooting up campuses.
Jonah’s thoughts went back to the setting, the methodology, the victims. Given the planning that went into the attack, he felt sure the university was significant in someway. Maybe his ex was taking classes there or worked there. They wouldn’t know until they got an ID.
Froehler ducked around the hanging scale and selected a scalpel off a cart filled with shiny instruments. Jonah braced himself for the Y-incision, just as Ric’s phone started to buzz.
Lucky bastard.
Ric checked the number and glanced at Jonah. “It’s Sean. Maybe we got something back from Delphi.”
He stepped out to take the call, and Jonah watched him through the window to the autopsy room. After a few minutes of listening, Ric waved him over.
But not before Jonah was hit by a wave of foul odors.
“We got a match on those prints,” Ric said as Jonah stepped into the hallway. “James Himmel, thirty-seven, of Columbus, Georgia.”
“That’s near Fort Benning. He ex-military?”
“Army had his prints on file.”
“So, what’s he doing down here?”
“No idea,” Ric said. “He’s not on staff or enrolled at the college. Sean’s running his credit cards right now, seeing if anything local pops up.”
“He married?”
“We’re checking.”
Jonah imagined some young woman moving down to Texas to start over after a bad breakup. Then he imagined her dead in a bedroom somewhere, like Charles Whitman’s wife.
If there was a secondary crime scene, they needed to find it soon.
“Detectives, you’ll want to see this.”
Jonah turned around to see Froehler’s assistant pokinghis head from the door. They both hesitated. Whatever it was couldn’t be more pressing than this latest intel.
“You go,” Ric said. “I’ll get started on some calls.”
“I’ll explain to Froehler, meet you out front in ten.”
Jonah returned to the steel table, giving the doctor exactly two minutes to show him something important. A pair of bloody shears lay on the cart beside him. Christ, he’d opened the chest already.
Froehler looked up at Jonah. “I thought I saw it on X-ray and I just confirmed it.”
“Confirmed what?”
“Tumors.” Froehler nodded at the gaping chest cavity. “This man’s eaten up with cancer.”
Gretchen emptied the packet of orange powder into the saucepan and stirred with one hand while reaching for the refrigerator door with the other.
She scanned the shelves. No milk, damn it. She grabbed a tub of margarine instead and made a mental note to add milk to her grocery list—the one that never seemed to get fulfilled.
“Is it dinner yet?”
She shot a glance into the living room, where the twins sat cross-legged on the carpet, surrounded by Legos.
“Almost.” She scooped out some margarine and added a dollop to the mac-n-cheese. “Did you girls drink milk today at Mrs. Garcia’s?”
“Yes,” they answered in unison.
Gretchen felt a touch of relief. They might be skimping at home, but at least she could count on Mrs. Garcia. The woman took care of six kids during the day, and her fridge was always stocked with milk and fruit. That and quesadillas had been staples of the twins’ diet since school let out.
Gretchen spooned pasta onto plates, then cut up a hot dog.
“Ready,” she said, ferrying the meals to the table. She returned to the kitchen and filled two cups with water as the girls sat down.
“So.” She sank into a chair. Families that ate together stayed together. Or was it prayed together? Either way, she made an effort to sit with her kids for at least a few minutes every evening. “Tell me what you did today.”
By some
Ric looked at Jonah. “So maybe his wife dumped him and he had a meltdown.”
Jonah stepped back and leaned against the counter. As motives went, it was one of the oldest around. Still, he didn’t like rushing to conclusions. Plenty of men’s marriages broke up and they didn’t all start shooting up campuses.
Jonah’s thoughts went back to the setting, the methodology, the victims. Given the planning that went into the attack, he felt sure the university was significant in someway. Maybe his ex was taking classes there or worked there. They wouldn’t know until they got an ID.
Froehler ducked around the hanging scale and selected a scalpel off a cart filled with shiny instruments. Jonah braced himself for the Y-incision, just as Ric’s phone started to buzz.
Lucky bastard.
Ric checked the number and glanced at Jonah. “It’s Sean. Maybe we got something back from Delphi.”
He stepped out to take the call, and Jonah watched him through the window to the autopsy room. After a few minutes of listening, Ric waved him over.
But not before Jonah was hit by a wave of foul odors.
“We got a match on those prints,” Ric said as Jonah stepped into the hallway. “James Himmel, thirty-seven, of Columbus, Georgia.”
“That’s near Fort Benning. He ex-military?”
“Army had his prints on file.”
“So, what’s he doing down here?”
“No idea,” Ric said. “He’s not on staff or enrolled at the college. Sean’s running his credit cards right now, seeing if anything local pops up.”
“He married?”
“We’re checking.”
Jonah imagined some young woman moving down to Texas to start over after a bad breakup. Then he imagined her dead in a bedroom somewhere, like Charles Whitman’s wife.
If there was a secondary crime scene, they needed to find it soon.
“Detectives, you’ll want to see this.”
Jonah turned around to see Froehler’s assistant pokinghis head from the door. They both hesitated. Whatever it was couldn’t be more pressing than this latest intel.
“You go,” Ric said. “I’ll get started on some calls.”
“I’ll explain to Froehler, meet you out front in ten.”
Jonah returned to the steel table, giving the doctor exactly two minutes to show him something important. A pair of bloody shears lay on the cart beside him. Christ, he’d opened the chest already.
Froehler looked up at Jonah. “I thought I saw it on X-ray and I just confirmed it.”
“Confirmed what?”
“Tumors.” Froehler nodded at the gaping chest cavity. “This man’s eaten up with cancer.”
Gretchen emptied the packet of orange powder into the saucepan and stirred with one hand while reaching for the refrigerator door with the other.
She scanned the shelves. No milk, damn it. She grabbed a tub of margarine instead and made a mental note to add milk to her grocery list—the one that never seemed to get fulfilled.
“Is it dinner yet?”
She shot a glance into the living room, where the twins sat cross-legged on the carpet, surrounded by Legos.
“Almost.” She scooped out some margarine and added a dollop to the mac-n-cheese. “Did you girls drink milk today at Mrs. Garcia’s?”
“Yes,” they answered in unison.
Gretchen felt a touch of relief. They might be skimping at home, but at least she could count on Mrs. Garcia. The woman took care of six kids during the day, and her fridge was always stocked with milk and fruit. That and quesadillas had been staples of the twins’ diet since school let out.
Gretchen spooned pasta onto plates, then cut up a hot dog.
“Ready,” she said, ferrying the meals to the table. She returned to the kitchen and filled two cups with water as the girls sat down.
“So.” She sank into a chair. Families that ate together stayed together. Or was it prayed together? Either way, she made an effort to sit with her kids for at least a few minutes every evening. “Tell me what you did today.”
By some
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